Reality
by Kenuck
Summary: [Part 3 of 3] The only thing that hurts more than the truth, is reality.


**Title**: Reality  
**Author**: Kenuck  
**Fandom**: CSI: New York  
**Spoilers**: None.  
**Rating**: K+  
**Warning**: Disconcerting content, mature language.  
**Disclaimer**: "Reality" is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.  
**Author's Notes**: And the series continues! This is the third - and final - part in the three-part series. Thanks to **Cazzie** for the beta, and to everyone who has read the series and commented. If you haven't read the first two parts ("Crisis" and "Awake"), I suggest you read them before this.

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The first sound that registered was that of the squealing wheels on the gurney passing by in the hallway when I stepped into the viewing room in the Medical Examiner's office. The building was much colder than usual, an eerie ring to the perfunctory noises heard through the hallways: the air-conditioning unit blowing air, the screech of shoes on the linoleum, the instrumental melodies pouring from a radio within an office concealed by window blinds.

It had been two days since Flack had visited me in the hospital and, according to him, three days preceding my admission to Mercy West. My arms were bruised from the arterial sticks used to insert intravenous lines and spots where nurses had drawn blood for tests. My body wasn't used to being poked and prodded with medical equipment, various lines in me and surrounding me; I had felt like a prisoner in my own hospital bed, but now, I was free. Discharged from the hospital earlier in the morning, Flack had driven me straight to the M.E.'s office upon my persistent assurance that I could wait to go home.

Hammerback had met us at the doors, armed with a gentle hug for me, and escorted us through the building to the viewing room. I was seeing the walls of the Medical Examiner's office in a different light – whether it was construed or not by the level of painkillers racing through my veins, I was unsure, but what I knew was that I was not there for an occupational trip. I was there to identify a body.

Once the door to the viewing room had been closed, the noises that had annoyed me before were gone. The room was quiet and the mood grave – Hammerback and Flack waited a moment as I settled in front of the window and prepared myself before asking me if I was ready.

"Let's just get this over with." I didn't intend to sound so curt with them. After all, I may have been helping them, but they were also helping me to gain closure after the altering ordeal.

"Go ahead, Sid," Flack said quietly.

Hammerback moved to the window and before drawing the curtains back, asked, "Are you sure you're up to this?"

I hesitated – the worst thing possible when assuring someone – and then nodded.

"Okay." He tugged the curtains open slowly, the fabric parting slowly to reveal the lifeless body I had dreaded seeing again.

I stared at the marbled skin and felt my eyes fill with water. Painful reminiscing was becoming a frequent game for my mind and although it was but a moment in my past, the feelings I experienced in that moment where panic, fright, horror, nausea were so entwined I could barely differentiate between them, were all so real.

"It's him," I said, closing my eyes. Hot tears trickled down my face, sliding slowly down my cheeks.

It was true. I didn't believe it when Flack had broken the news in the hospital, not having any veritable reason to, but now it was clear. I was staring at the corpse of a man I recognized and knew well.

A sour taste piqued my taste buds and incited my body's control over the contents of my stomach. I couldn't take it – I abruptly turned and ran out of the viewing room, slamming the door behind me. Without forethought, I ran down the hall, my shoes squeaking on the flooring. Past the autopsy suites I ran, disregarding the employees who stopped and stared as I ran by. Here I was again, running from my past.

I had made it through the front doors when suddenly my knees gave out and I fell to the ground. The cement scraped the palms of my hands as I crashed like a damaged plane colliding with Earth. How odd the sight of a crying woman laying on the ground outside of a government building – the Medical Examiner's office, no doubt – like she was at home in bed, didn't seem to occur to me, nor did it give me any reason to get up.

Footsteps approached, but I didn't look up. All I could do was concentrate on my breathing and the pavement below me.

"Montana, what are you doin'?"

I froze, my mind buzzing as I remembered that voice, the accent I had heard before. Slowly, I looked up to see Danny standing over me, his concerned eyes staring at me. He knelt beside me and helped me up.

"I knew him," I mumbled, ignoring the stinging in my nostrils.

"Knew who?"

"The guy who stabbed me. His name was Aaron Westfield. He was a suspect in a case I worked in Montana, accused of murdering his girlfriend. I didn't do anything wrong on the case. The evidence was sufficient to get a conviction, but not enough to get him a sentence longer than ten years." I was rambling, but I didn't care. "A year after he was sent to jail, a suspect in a convenience store robbery was charged with the murder of Amy Powers - the other DNA sample found at the crime scene matched the robber. He was sleeping with Aaron Westfield's girlfriend."

"What happened to Westfield?"

"He was released after further appeals, and testing corroborated his story that he didn't do it. My supervisor slapped a TRO on him to protect me after my windshield had been smashed." There was a long pause. "It's my fault he's dead, Danny."

"Lindsay," Danny cooed, "don't. Fuck, don't do this. He was the one that came here."

"Sounds like some cheap romance novel, doesn't it? You and I are together, we love each other, and we break up because we can't handle it. Then, I get stabbed and we have a miraculous reconciliation." I wiped the moisture from my face. "It's pathetic."

"It's not a romance novel, Lindsay, and it's not pathetic." He reached out and touched my face. His rough hands wiped away my tears just as they always had. "Do me a favour, okay?" I nod. "Don't you ever scare me like that. I thought I was gonna lose you."

My sobbing became worse as my face fell into the curve of his chest. I thought I was gonna lose you. The painful truth of his words stung me. I could have died, and I would've died knowing that I had made such a horrible mistake, letting him go.  
He stroked my hair and said, "Don't you ever die on me, Montana."

"I won't," I whispered. "I promise."


End file.
